


flesh failures

by nosecoffee



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Disagreements, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Murder, Vague Magic AU, Vague Manipulation, Vampire AU, small town AU, some Sexual scenes, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9132547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosecoffee/pseuds/nosecoffee
Summary: When you name a creature, it gives you power over it. The moment it gives you a name, however, it takes all that power away.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Littlejig3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlejig3/gifts).



> Title from 'Flesh Failures' from Hair the Musical
> 
> Big thanks to Jazz for her encouragement and faith. Happy New Years, my dudes.

When John Laurens was nine years-old, his mother died in a car crash.

When John Laurens was nine years-old he discovered a secret long kept by his family, controlled by his ancestors.

When John Laurens was nine years-old, he discovered that he could create something from nothing.

The night John Laurens dreamed of a boy in the shadows, he created something.

John Laurens created the monster that everyone feared, a thing that paralysed him in his bed when he woke, a thing that made him feel cold to his centre.

The night John Laurens dreamed a monster into the world, he unleashed hell.

~

John Laurens dreams of the monster every night, dreams of running through dark streets, streets he knows intimately, dreams of blood, dreams of terror.

John Laurebs catches a glimpse of the monster every night, not enough to piece together an image (they slip away in the morning light like sand through his fingers) but enough to strike fear in his heart when the light goes out.

John Laurens catches the curl of a hungry, predatory smile.

John Laurens sees a glint in dangerous dark eyes.

John Laurens grows up with a flashlight clasped in his hands, pepper spray on his bedside table, pillows stuffed under his bed so that not a soul could hide there.

John Laurens fears what he has created, but he dares not tell anyone, for fear of what might happen if he did.

~

Gilbert Motier Lafayette arrives in town nine years after John's mother dies.

Nine years after he dreams up the monster.

His teeth are sharp and white, his eyes are dark and glinting, and he stops John in his tracks.

John has a plan. He's had it for years.

He's in his final year of high school, time to start applying to colleges far, far way from here. As far as he can go. Heck, he'd go to Australia if it meant that he could escape the tiny, claustrophobic town, escape his father, escape his dark room, escape the monster he dreamed up, escape the tree his mother's car had wrapped itself around when he was nine years-old.

Gilbert Motier Lafayette stops him in his tracks and John's worried that he'll never start again.

And then how will he outrun the monster in his dreams?

How will he outrun the monster under his bed?

~

Gilbert doesn't speak to him for the longest time, brushes past when he's finished at his locker, hums under his breath in the lunch line behind him, grins at him as he gets on his bike and rides down the hill.

John's fine with that.

(No he's not.)

Once Gilbert arrived the nightmares increased, intensified.

John's running as fast as he can, but it's never fast enough, the monster is always close enough to wrap a hand around his wrist - a dark hand, long fingers - and yank him to the ground, ready to destroy him, take him apart, bit by bit, make him suffer.

John wakes up with the shakes in a cold sweat.

He knows he should tell someone, get help, he's obviously got issues, has panic attacks nearly every night that shake him to his very core.

But if he does that his father will know and John's not sure what will happen if Henry Laurens finds out that his son created a monster, but it can't be good.

~

Four weeks into term, Gilbert speaks to him for the first time.

"You do not sleep," he states and John jumps, dropping his bike chain. Gilbert grins.

John swallows, looks up to meet him in the eye. "What?"

"You look tired, all the time. I assume you do not sleep." Gilbert replies, looking nonchalant, shrugging. "Just an observation."

John bites his lip and stuffs his bike chain in the side pocket of his backpack. "I don't sleep much, no."

"Why not?" Gilbert pulls his bike out of the stand. "Such a quiet town, would not take much to just drop off the deep end for a couple of hours."

John grimaces, and does the same, kicking the stand up and hovering over the seat. "That's the problem," he replies. "I hate the quiet."

He rides down the hill without another word.

~

He dreams of nothing that night.

~

It becomes a regular thing, talking at the bike racks.

Gilbert inquires after his health, John indirectly tells him to fuck off and rides away.

It's a routine.

An act.

A farce.

John wonders about Gilbert, wonders how it would feel to break that hair elastic and run his fingers through those curls.

To bite his lip and lick the blood up.

To push him down and break him.

Okay, so maybe John's a little more than curious about him.

Nobody could blame him.

It was like Gilbert was a flame and they were all helpless moths.

John was just waiting to get burned.

~

The shoe drops three months after Gilbert arrives in town.

It's the end of December and John's just finished replacing the flowers at his mother's grave when he turns and sees the boy watching him from the gate of the graveyard.

If that's not weird in itself, the way he's leering should be, but John still finds himself swaggering over and taking up pace beside the talker boy.

"You come here often?" He asks dryly, and drops the old flowers in a bin.

Gilbert laughs. "As I said before, I like the quiet. It only gets quieter in a graveyard."

John shrugs. "Sure, if that's what you're into."

He snorts. "You're funny."

"Really?" He asks, peering at Gilbert, all sharp angles against the grey sky. Gilbert peers back at him.

"You didn't know?"

"I don't usually talk to anyone." He shrugs again. An uncomfortable feeling runs up his spine.

Goosebumps rise on his skin.

It's snowing hard enough to play it off but something other than the cold is making John's hair stand on end.

Something is very wrong.

John slips on some ice while he's trying to figure out what could be the cause of his subconscious distress and Gilbert catches him with speed and grace, one arm around his waist, his other hand wrapped around John's wrist.

Alarm bells go off in John's head and he places a hand on Gilbert's chest - to steady himself, push him away, he doesn't know why - but stays where he is, staring at the way Gilbert's long, dark fingers wrap around his paler wrist.

It clicks just as he registers that it's been almost a minute with his hand pressed against Gilbert's heart and he hasn't felt a single beat.

He looks up to Gilbert's face, realisation obviously plain on his own.

He can't say a word.

Gilbert smirks, making John realise he's been playing him like a fiddle.

"Say it, say it out loud." He says in a terrible American accent.

John gapes like a fish.

"I've been dropping hints for months now, and you only just get it?" He tuts, shaking his head, and pulls John closer. There is no warmth to be found in Gilbert's presence. "I thought my creator might be a little brighter than that."

"You-" he finally splutters. Gilbert releases John's wrist and tips his head up.

"Me." He replies and leans down to slot their lips together.

~

He lets Gilbert touch him in a way that no ones touched him before.

Lets him see him vulnerable, trusts him just enough to let him have this.

He never allows him to bite him, that's too close to the nightmares he'd suffered, but everything else is fine.

It's in the moments where Gilbert snaps and his eyes squeeze shut and he fists the sheets just so that John wonders what it would be like if he wasn't what John had made him.

~

"There's nothing fun about being a vampire." Gilbert says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"There's nothing fun about practically being a god either, and yet, here I sit." John replies from his seat on the bed.

Gilbert snorts. "You joke about death when you know nothing of it."

"I created you. I can destroy you just as easily." John mock-warns, waggling a finger. Gilbert laughs and stands.

"Whatever floats your boat, mom ami," and then he leans close. If John focuses too hard, he can feel the light scrape of his teeth on his neck as he speaks. "But it doesn't change how much I want to taste you."

He leaves a moment later and John sits there, thinking that perhaps the monster that haunted his dreams for years may not be that bad.

~

And then Martha Manning dies.

~

She's found lying on her front porch, face terrified, two little pinpricks on her neck. She's spread out in her pretty pink dress like a flower, the collar of her matching cardigan smattered with blood.

It's a small town, not a lot of suspects, not a lot of experienced cops.

Of course, people point fingers, the blame piles up on inconsequential people, but in the end the case is dropped because there's simply no way to figure out who killed sweet little Martha Manning and left her on the porch like a dolly.

~

John knows how to find a monster, however.

~

He finds Gilbert sitting in the park the day the station closes down the Martha Manning Murder Case.

There's still snow and John has to wipe down the adjacent seat with his coat before he can sit down without risking a wet backside.

"Why did you kill her?"

"I can't just live off deer blood, you know. I'm not Edward fucking Cullen." He cocks his head thoughtfully. "And I wanted to taste her."

'Just like you want to taste me?' John almost asks and bites his tongue. He's not an idiot. He'd see the world burn before he'd offer himself up to a monster.

"You're not impressed." Gilbert observes.

John kicks the tanbark. "Of course not. You killed a girl I've known since I was too young to know anything. You killed someone I've known my entire life."

"You regret me." It's not a question and John doesn't expect it to be.

He sighs, "I've regretted you since the moment I created you."

~

It doesn't stop and John doesn't think he minds that.

Of course, there's deer corpses found in the woods every few weeks, and Gilbert gets a job at the butchers, so at least he can sneak out some blood every once in a while.

But when Peggy Schuyler shows up dead in her backyard, all hell breaks loose.

"Do you always have to be so dramatic about it?" John asks.

Gilbert shrugs. "It's in my nature. I couldn't leave her as she was when I was done. It would look like a struggle. Better to make her look-"

"Like a fucking starfish?" John demands. Gilbert doesn't so much as blink.

"Peaceful. As if she was stargazing." He replies instead.

There's no snow anymore, and the grass is beginning to return, as green as the eyes of the girl Gilbert had murdered.

"You killed my friends sister. I used to babysit her." John spat. Eliza had been devastated. Angelica cold and reserved.

"Would you like me to target the assholes?" Gilbert asked, having the nerve to look thoughtful.

"I want you to die." John said, coldly.

"And I want you to let me have you, but it won't happen." John snapped his head to look at the monster, lips pursed. "Just accept that I'll never go, and that you have to suffer the consequences."

"If only there was a way I that I could destroy you."

"You wish."

"I do."

~

The murders continue, each one as bewildering as the next.

Until Alex Hamilton shows up at his door at two in the morning rambling about 'that shady French boy'.

John knows he's onto them, but the minute Gilbert suspects him, he'd kill him. John wouldn't wish that upon anybody.

He tells Alex to keep quiet, to lie low, to shut his mouth, or he'd end the same as Martha and Peggy and Adams and Madison.

He ends up dead a few days later anyway and it's enough to make John snap.

"Alright, enough." He says the minute he sees Gilbert on the swing. Ready for their monthly "do you want me to kill a fucking rabbit to survive" discussion. Gilbert looks up.

"What will it take to make you stop?" John demands, tired - so fucking tired - of this. He wants to sleep. Doesn't want to dream. Doesn't want to wake up to a bewildered town.

"I wondered why that wasn't the first thing you asked me." Gilbert replies instead of a real answer.

"So there is a way?" He licks his lips.

"Your blood. That's all I need." And it seems all too easy. All too simple. There's got to be a catch.

John tugs his scarf off, baring his throat to the early spring breeze. He watches Gilbert visibly swallow.

"How much."

"All of it." Ah, there's the catch. "Only if we are both destroyed can there be peace once again."

John licks his lips.

It isn't such a bad place to die, isn't such a bad time.

And isn't it time that he rid the world of his monster?

"Okay."

Gilbert blanches. "What?"

"Okay." John repeats, calmly. "Seems reasonable."

Gilbert stands and takes John's hand. He shivers at the cold of it. The absence of life bellow his skin.

"Not here," he says. "Can we go back to your house?"

~

Gilbert keeps asking him if he's sure.

John's never been surer of something in his life.

Gilbert sinks his teeth into John's neck and, at first, the pain is blinding. He cries out and grabs Gilbert's shoulders but the pain turns to something else and he relaxes into Gilbert's hold.

The something is indescribable, unimaginable, John's unable to think too hard about it, his mind hazy and flustered.

It can only be described as freedom.

John's so tired and the black comes quickly. He sighs and slumps into Gilbert's chest.

~

That's how they find him, lying face down on his bed, the covers sprinkled with blood, two little pinpricks in his neck.

He's stiff and pale and dead.

And, the oddest thing, there's dust all over the bed beneath his body. Sprinkled like sand on the covers.

After John Laurens's death, the murders stop and peace returns to the town.

~

Two years after her older brother's death, Martha Laurens dreams of a monster.

  
Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, feel free to leave a comment and/or a kudos, and track me down on Tumblr @nose-coffee. Again, thank you for reading.


End file.
